“We forget,” Ben said. “Once the whole world was as fresh as the taste of a young rabbit” DeVore nodded. “Thaf s true. But things pass. New things must have their time, don’t you think?”
Ben shrugged and looked down, content, it seemed, to eat his stew and dumplings. Catherine, conscious of the awkward lull, leaned forward, determined to fill it with talk “I was in Dortmund last week, at the Klaiser Gallery. They’ve an exhibition of the new art Ifs wonderful, Ben. Such vivid colours! Such life!” “I’ve seen it,” Ben said without looking up.
“Ben’s not a fan of the new,” Meg said, looking to her chief guest “Maybe so,” DeVore said, reaching across to break a hunk of bread from the nearby loaf. “And yet he’s single-handedly revolutionised art I saw a preview of the exhibition Catherine’s talking about and must say that, personally, I found it ... regressive.”
“That surprises me,” Ben said, looking across at him.
“Surprises you?”
“Yes. I thought you of all people would be an admirer. All that brutality. All that vigorous expression of sheer will.”
DeVore laughed. “You mistake me, Ben. I admire power, certainly, but not the posturings of power. No,” he went on, offering an apologetic smile to Catherine. “I hate to disagree with you, Catty, but I found the work shallow, lacking in real understanding. They were ... how might I put this? ... propagandist in intention.”
Meg looked down. Catty, eh? She almost smiled, but reminded herself just who this was calling her best friend pet names. It was rather like finding oneself suddenly related to Genghis Khan. Raising her eyes, she studied DeVore, letting the flow of talk drift past her. She had noticed earlier how nice and neat his hands were, the nails perfectly manicured, the skin well scrubbed. In the same manner, his whole form had a pleasing neatness about it, his face a handsome cast, that lulled one into a false assumption.
The devil is a handsome man ...
As if conscious of her sudden attention, DeVore looked across the table and smiled at Meg.
“Would it be rude of me, Miss Shepherd, if I were to ask for a second helping?”
“Not at all,” she said, rising quickly to her feet and going round the table. As she stood there, ladling stew into his bowl, she could sense his eyes on her and felt a flush come to her neck.
“That perfume you’re wearing?” he asked, his voice low and intimate. “Is it something you made yourself?”
Meg forced herself to meet his eyes and smile. “It was my mother’s.”
“Ah...”
She handed him the bowl, then went back to her place, but she was no longer comfortable. In those few instants it was as if he had violated her. As if the query about the perfume -harmless in itself - masked some other question. “I saw Sergey the other day,” Catherine said, reaching out to take her wine glass, oblivious of what had transpired.
“Yes?” Ben said, with marked disinterest. “And how is he?” “He’s well,” Catherine answered. “Sasha’s staying with him. He’s been teaching her sculpture.”
Meg tensed, but the explosion she’d feared did not come. Ben dipped his bread into the stew and popped it in his mouth, as if the news were nothing special and all of the long enmity that had existed between Catherine’s first husband and himself was as nothing.
“Well?” Catherine asked after a moment “Don’t you mind?” Ben looked at her, finishing a mouthful, then answered. “Why should I? She’s a grown girl. She can make her own decisions. You do.” Catherine looked down. “You don’t care, then?”
Ben laughed, but said nothing.
“I’ll clear the plates,” Meg said, getting up as the silence descended once again. “Unless anyone wants more?”
DeVore smiled across at her, as if he alone had been addressed. “Thank you, Miss Shepherd, but no.” He put his hands flat on his stomach, like the archetypal fat burgher in one of the historical soaps that were so fashionable these days. “If s sorely tempting, but I must leave some space for pudding, mustn’t P” And as she stacked the plates beside the sink, then turned to face the oven, Meg found herself wondering just what it was in nature that could make a monster seem so human.
For she had no doubts now. Tonight they supped with the devil. And the devil had the appearance of a healthy appetite.
Meg slipped on the oven gloves, then took the apple pie from the top shelf, pushing the door closed with her knee. Straightening up, she found herself looking out through the open flap of the garden door, and saw the full moon shining brilliantly in the blue-black night, like a staring eye, watching her. And into her head came the two questions that had been hovering there at the back of her consciousness ever since the meal had begun. What are you up to, Ben? And what precisely does he want from you? She shivered, cold suddenly, and frightened for her brother. Then, forcing herself to smile, to play the perfect hostess, she turned and took the pie through.
Meg stood beside her brother, his arm about her waist, as DeVore’s craft came down in the upper meadow, its lights making her shield her eyes and look away to one side. They had already said their farewells, and it only remained for them to watch as the two dark figures climbed the ramp, briefly silhouetted against that intense white glare.
“Like the dead,” Ben murmured, as if he’d read her mind.
“Yes,” she said. ‘Td hoped she might stay.”
The figures waved. They waved back. The hatch hissed shut. The roar of the engines grew once more, gusting warm air across to them. The craft slowly rose, then accelerated away to the east As its noise receded, Ben turned to her and smiled.
“I’m glad she didn’t”
She looked back at him, trying to read him through his eyes. “Are you?”
He nodded. “Come on. Let s go to bed.”
“There’s the washing up ...”
“Leave it,” he said, taking her arms and lifting her from her feet “Now. Before I change my mind.”
Meg lay there on her side, the darkness wrapped like a shawl about her. Ben’s lovemaking had been unusually violent, as if he had been trying to breach some hidden barrier deep within himself. Now he lay there silently beside her, his naked body sheened in perspiration as he stared up at the shadowed ceiling. Through the open window she could see right across the valley. The surface of the bay shimmered in the moonlight, a great sheet of stippled light that contrasted starkly with the darkly wooded slope beyond. In that early hour it all seemed so peaceful, so eternal, yet for once its tranquillity failed to lull her. She could not sleep while Ben was troubled. “What is it?” she asked quietly, turning and laying a hand on his wrist where it lay beside her naked hip.
“If s nothing.”
“Nothing?”
“Yes, now go to sleep.”
But she knew now she was right. “What has he asked you to do?”
Ben turned his head, staring at her. “You don’t like him, do you?”
“No. Do you?”
“I don’t dislike him. He’s a charming, intelligent man.” “And well-mannered and attentive and ... a devil.” Ben narrowed his eyes, surprised. It was not often she made so direct a comment on a guest. “So what does he want?” she asked, edging up onto one elbow and looking down at him. “What was the deal?” “Why should you think there was a deal?” “Because thaf s how he is. He wants, he takes, he uses.” “And what if he also gives something back?” She laughed bitterly. “What could he possibly givejyow that you haven’t already got?” His silence worried her. “Ben? ... Benl What is it? Tell me. Please.” “You want to know?” “Of course I want to know.” “I’m going to work with him. Make him a shell.” She was silent a moment, then, in a tiny voice. “You can’t” “Can’t?” Meg lay her hand gently on his shoulder. “You mustn’t He’s ...” She shrugged. “If s what I do,” he said. “If s my art.” “But you can’t,” she said again. “Not for him.” He pulled himself up into a sitting position, facing her.